A Study in Potions
by HighlyFunctioningSociocpath
Summary: When a mysterious Potions thief begins to plague Hogwarts, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are called in to investigate. However, the plot takes a surprising turn involving Drarry, sinister pet rabbits, a dodgy pet store supplier, and a divination teacher who does not believe in divination.
1. Chapter 1

A Study in Potions

The girl stood in the darkened doorway, looking into the flat nervously. She was here only because of a newspaper article she had read recently, and the entire business was beginning to look rather grim, to say the least. For starters, there was something that looked suspiciously like a bone from a human arm sitting on the table in plain sight, with a little sticky note beside it reading, _'_ Molly- 12:07 p.m. _'_ _._ Secondly, despite the promise of the small lady showing her in, the man she wanted to see was nowhere in sight. The girl wondered briefly if he knew the lady well. "Excuse me?" She asked. The lady turned, smiling kindly. "Are you the housekeeper? How do you know them?"

"I am most certainly NOT their housekeeper!" The lady exclaimed vigorously. The girl was taken aback.

"I'm- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." The lady smiled again.

"Oh, that's quite alright dear. It's a common mistake, believe me. I'm the landlady, Mrs. Hudson. Did you want a cup of tea?"

"No, thank you. Is he out?"

"Who, Sherlock?"

"Yes, I've come to see him."

"Right! So you said. I presume you'll be wanting John, too. They're both out at the morgue. They go everywhere together, John and Sherlock. It's adorable really. John is always insisting that he's already got a girlfriend but honestly I don't think…" Their voices carried down the hallway and into the dark rooms of 221b Baker Street, echoing faintly off the walls as they walked inside. The girl shivered slightly and tugged her sweater closer. Mrs. Hudson was still talking, gesturing to the walls with dismay and commenting on brooms and mops and how she'd tried all kinds of different cleaning detergent to get out the bloodstains but nothing seemed to work. The girl couldn't help but think that she sounded awfully housekeeper-like for someone apparently so opposed to the idea. She sat down on the sagging couch and hugged her knees, noticing with concern that a yellow smiley face had been spray painted on the deep green wallpaper and then brutally attacked with something that looked awfully like a gun. A violin case sat on a small chair next to a window overlooking the drizzly grey London street, and a music stand which appeared to have very complex sheet music written by hand resting on it.

"Writes his own music, does he?"

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Hudson replied, sounding rather as if she were discussing a gossip magazine, "He does it when he's thinking. Now, I don't understand how composing such complicated music can help you think about _other_ complicated things, but it works for Sherlock. He does love to play violin, does it all the time." Mrs. Hudson paused, listening. The girl did too, her curly hair bouncing gently as she turned toward the sound of the front door opening. "Ah!" The landlady exclaimed, brightening. "They're back! Are they expecting you, dear, or are you just popping in?" Muffled sounds of an umbrella being closed reached the girl's ears. She responded absentmindedly to the question.

"No, I phoned earlier. They know I'm coming." Mrs. Hudson looked surprised.

"Sherlock answered his phone?"

"No. My call went to a message. I explained the situation and said I needed to come by later, and then I got a text from a completely different number that said…" The girl hesitated and pulled out her phone. She tapped the screen a few times and then continued. "Aha, here it is. _'Sounds intriguing, stop by at 1 PM. You know the address already. Bring crumpets.'."_ Mrs. Hudson grew rather flustered at this last comment.

"He could've asked me to bring some when I went to the shops earlier! I asked if there was anything he wanted, and of course he said no…" There were quiet voices in the kitchen.

"Yes," The girl said, "That occurred to me too. I texted back and asked why he couldn't simply get the crumpets himself. He said that his housekeeper only buys the store-bought, whole-wheat kind."

"That's ridiculous. I buy the healthy kind."

"He said you called them that. I brought some, anyhow." The girl reached into a small beaded bag that hung over her shoulder. Mrs. Hudson heard several very heavy things knocking loudly against each other inside of it, which was strange, considering the bag's diminutive size. "Oh, drat. I've knocked over the books. And I had them all stacked by subject." The girl muttered angrily. The landlady raised her eyebrows. Finally, the girl pulled out a paper bag of rather squashed crumpets from its depths, reaching her arm all the way inside to do so. The strangest part of the whole affair was the fact that the bag shouldn't have been deep enough for the girl's entire arm. The landlady overlooked this. Having Sherlock Holmes and John Watson as tenants would acclimatize anybody to various levels of shock. The paper bag crinkled loudly, and somebody stuck his head into the room where Mrs. Hudson and the girl sat. John looked happy.

"Mrs. Hudson, we've run out of…" He trailed off. "Who are you?"

"I'm-" The girl began, but she never finished. Another voice cut her off.

"In her late teens. Curly brown hair, she's got a heavy bag, probably books. She finds Mrs. Hudson's company very boring but is far too polite to say so. Her parents are dentists, but she's been away at boarding school for quite some time. She's homesick, but not extremely so. Someone named Pansy Parkinson thinks she has large front teeth, but someone named Ron… hmmm… Ronald… let's see. Oooh… what's this? He wrote her a note… She's good friends with his mother, certainly, that means she's friends with the whole family as well. Got a ginger cat. She's bought the crumpets, just like I said. Reasonably clever. What on earth are O.W.L.s? Sherlock stuck his head through the door after John. "I was right."

"How… how do you…?"

"You're obviously in your late teens. The texting abbreviations you used point to young, but old enough to travel across the city by yourself, not _so_ young that you need your parents with you. A strand of hair caught on the coat rack, curly and brown, nobody else here has similar hair of the same length, and we've just bought that rack so it can't have been from a previous occasion. I can see the marks of fingers on the walls, scuffs on the table, that means you were bored but pretending to pay attention, so you're clever but also polite. Cat hair on the wall paper from where you've been dragging one knee. It's shin height, so it could have been a small dog but the length and colour is obviously a cat. Ginger. You bumped into this chair with your bag, it's shifted slightly and no one was sitting here. That means the bag was heavy and unwieldy, most likely because you are studying for something called O.W.L.s and are reasonably intelligent so it was full of books. You left another bag in the hallway, and you dropped a business card. The business card has a younger version of you on it with two older people, you aren't a model for dentistry because of your large teeth, and you aren't smiling, so it must be that your parents are dentists. Why would a late teenager have her parents' business card? It reminds you of them, but also you're away a lot and studying, so you forget their number and you need a reminder. Homesick and at boarding school. Two notes, one from Pansy, obviously a bully at school, about your teeth. You don't like her but she slipped it into your bag so you ripped it up and crumpled it when you found it because you had nowhere else to put it. The second note's from a boy named Ronald Weasley… asking you to somewhere called 'Hogsmeade'…! He's drawn folded it up and put a ribbon on it, obviously in love with you." The girl flushed. "I can see you haven't found that one yet. You've got a hand-knitted sweater in here with your name, obviously for you by somebody who cares. Not your mother, she's too busy. It's got a note still on it from when they gave it to you, so you appreciated the thought but thought it hideous and slightly too large. It must be from a family friend, hmm… _'Mrs. Weasley'._ That also seems to be Ron's last name, so it's his mother. And-" John interjected.

"That's enough, Sherlock." Sherlock looked disappointed. "Just… who is she?"

"A Miss Hermione Granger." Sherlock didn't smile. He turned to the girl. "When do we begin?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Three Days Earlier…**

"I can't believe it. Quidditch is cancelled! Again!" Harry shook his head angrily.

"It's because Angelina's ill."

"How do you know that, Hermione?" Ron asked skeptically. "Really, how?"

"It was George's expression at breakfast. He was concerned."

"Yeah, most likely because he might be about to get expelled after that latest stunt he pulled on Snape. That was bloody brilliant, that was."

"Oh, be quiet Ronald. That was dangerous."

"Still brilliant." Harry rolled his eyes, and there was a conspicuous silence as Angelina bounded past in perfect health to speak to someone or other.

"Yeah, Hermione. She looks like she's about to expire any minute."

"Fine, I was wrong. There's nothing wrong with making mistakes!"

"What's with you and the new 'prediction' thing, anyway?"

"Deduction!"

"Same thing. Either way, seems like it's the new SPEW."

"It's not-!"

Harry interjected quickly before Hermione went of on a tirade about SPEW, which she still referred to as separate letters, instead of the word. "Tell us about deduction, Hermione." She did so, talking rapidly and eagerly.

"It's on a website I've been reading. A man named Sherlock Holmes writes it, he's a consulting detective in London. It talks about really fascinating things, like these cases he takes, you've no idea…"

Ron muttered, "Good god," but at least he had the grace to do it under his breath. Hermione continued happily into her explanation of deduction, which was apparently very complicated and detailed. Harry only hoped that this 'Sherlock' person was better at it than Hermione was, as she had already deduced that Malfoy had thrown himself in the lake based on something to do with Goyle's robes and a bat bogey hex gone badly. This might have been concerning, as Hermione had seemed quite sure at the time. However, Malfoy was seen walking by in perfectly dry robes minutes later, loudly screeching,

"MY FATHER WILL HEAR ABOUT THIS!" To a group of cowering third years. Ron snorted.

"Yeah, like we could get that lucky. My favourite dreams are the ones where I win the lottery, and it turns out the prize is throwing Malfoy to the giant squid." Harry took the moment where Hermione had paused in her explanation (she was lecturing Ron about promoting positive inter-house relations) to remark,

"It's odd, isn't it?"

"What's odd?" She responded, watching as Malfoy continued to scream and gesticulate wildly at the first years.

"Quidditch cancelled. For the third time in a row. And the whole team is perfectly healthy." He added the last part rather hastily, as it appeared that Hermione was going to start with her theories about Angelina again.

"It is strange." She conceded. "Maybe it's got something to do with Madame Hooch." Harry considered this.

"I'll ask her about it. She could have maintenance being done on the field or the stands or something. I think Fred hit a nasty bludger through most of the framework." Ron interjected.

"Yeah, that's possible. But Harry, Fred's done that _loads_ of times. George too! It happens maybe every other practice at least! Quidditch has never been cancelled because of it before. Anyway, we'd better get back to the dorm. It's getting late. We don't want to get in any… _trouble_ , especially right before the trip to Hogsmeade." Ron glanced shiftily at the Whomping Willow. Ever since the incident with Scabbers, Ron had become terrified of the tree and seemed to think that it would leap out of the ground and attack at any moment. Reassuring him, however, was useless. With this particular tree, it was quite possible that Ron's fears were not unfounded. The three friends turned and headed back up the path toward the castle, receding into the violet twilight, talking animatedly about their loathing of divination and the mystery surrounding the cancelled quidditch.

Far away, at the base of the hill, Malfoy watched them go.

The next morning, Dumbledore made an announcement at breakfast. It wasn't quite the appropriate time for such an announcement, because all who heard immediately dropped their toast and porridge and pumpkin juice and began whispering about it, despite their hunger.

"Students!" The headmaster's voice rang out clearly. Everyone fell silent. "Some of you have no doubt been wondering why we no longer have extra-curricular activities taking place here at Hogwarts. I apologize sincerely for not telling you sooner. That, I am afraid to say, was a mistake on my part. However, I am sorry to tell you that I have taken them away for a reason."

Nobody spoke.

"One or more of you is stealing from Professor Snape's private store of ingredients." Dumbledore said gravely. Whispers floated thickly through the hall like fog. "Now, let it be said that I do not wish to punish _all_ of you for the errors of the student or students in question. Unfortunately, culprits who have been taking supplies from the potion cupboard are, as of yet, unknown. Your activities will immediately resume after the thief admits to their actions, or are caught. A reminder, dear students, that if you are not stealing, you have nothing to worry about. Now, finish your breakfasts! You have a busy day of classes ahead of you." With this, Dumbledore went back to his seat and resumed the consumption of his kippers. The talking began at once.

"So _that's_ why there hasn't been any practice!" Harry said angrily. "Some nutter's been stealing from Snape!" Ron scowled.

"Bet it was Malfoy." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You two can't just blame _everything_ on Malfoy! Do you remember how you snuck into the Slytherin common room in second year because you thought he was the 'Heir of Slytherin'? And then in third year, Ron, when you confided in me that you thought he'd stolen Scabbers to exact revenge on you?" Ron mumbled something incoherent and blushed like a tomato. "Besides, Malfoy'd turn himself in if it _was_ him."

"Why on earth would he do that?" Ron asked thickly.

"Because, _Ronald_ , he's missing quidditch practice too. He can't be doing anything so serious with the potion ingredients that he won't just admit to doing it after he's had his fun."

"True…" Harry commented thoughtfully. It could be Malfoy, after all. But it was tiring, sometimes, the endless war between Malfoy and Himself. The Boy Who Lived constantly pitted against his arch nemesis, Weasel Face. Not that Malfoy really resembled a weasel. In fact…never mind. The thief could be anyone in the school, Malfoy included. Harry needed to stop letting his own personal thoughts get in the way of things. Ron shook his head.

"Who'd _want_ to steal from Snape? They'd have to be completely mad! What if they got caught?"

"Maybe they want to get caught." Hermione remarked slowly. And, despite the rest of her deductions being complete nonsense, this one made the three of them think. But then again, who could possibly steal from Snape?

And why on _earth_ would someone want to get caught?


	3. Chapter 3

It was slightly after lunch when Hermione stopped talking. Ron was befuddled by the whole problem, saying that girls were so hard to figure out that he might as well not bother, and promptly marching off to the dormitory to play Exploding Snap. Harry, however, knew exactly what was happening. Hermione did this sort of thing when she was planning something. She'd done it before SPEW as well, which was exactly why Harry decided to give her a wide berth during this period of contemplation (he was worried she would suddenly begin to yell at him on the subject of house elf rights).

After lunch the next class was potions, which they endured silently together. Hermione did something unheard of and brewed a potion worse than Harry's, (the potion was supposed to be golden- Harry's was yellow, and Hermione's was a sickly orange-red) although Snape made a point of giving her a much higher mark than Harry nonetheless. The professor appeared to be in an even worse mood than usual, as if he blamed each and every one of them for the disappearance of his potion ingredients. After Snape had deducted the routine points (twenty this time) from Gryffindor for either slouching, speaking, answering a question correctly, or smiling (nobody was quite sure which), the students poured out of the dungeon and walked in laughing and chatting groups to Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall eyed them suspiciously, Harry noticed, as though she was looking for someone to reveal something. Nobody did except for Neville, who dropped a strange potted plant from his robes while attempting to change a mouse into a saucer. The effect on the room was electric; every student froze and looked toward the boy frantically trying to calm the plant, which had turned purple in terror. He seemed to realize how this must look, and began to repeat very rapidly,

"It wasn't me! I promise! It wasn't me!" Professor McGonagall surveyed the situation with surprise, which quickly turned to relief.

"All of you, please, go back to your work!" She spoke quickly. "That is not one of the stolen ingredients, although it is disruptive nonetheless to have in class…" She raised her eyebrows. "Five points from Gryffindor, Neville." He spluttered.

"But- but Professor! It was an-"

"I am quite sure it was an accident, Neville, but the accident would not have occurred had you left this…" she hesitated, not quite sure what it was, "Plant in your dormitory. Are we quite clear?" Neville looked dejected.

"Yes, Professor." McGonagall looked to the rest of the class, who were still staring at Neville.

"I don't know what you're waiting for. You may resume your spells." Harry turned away along with the others, but the tension in the room did not relax. No one could concentrate properly on their transfiguration, which resulted in a number of porcelain mice and furry saucers escaping into the hallway and being pursued by Peeves, the latter shouting obscene rhyming poetry and attempting to steal a portrait of a knight. After class was dismissed, as they entered the Gryffindor common room, Hermione spoke.

"I've got to go to London."

"What?!" Cried Harry, startling Ginny, who was reading by the fireplace in one of the squashy armchairs.

"Whurmfg?!" Choked Ron, who had somehow smuggled a sandwich from lunch through both potions and transfiguration and who was now devouring it with gusto.

"You know how rubbish I am at deduction." Hermione started. Harry muttered a polite,

"No, you're alright," and grimaced. Ron simply commented,

"Thought you'd never realize," and continued to inhale his sandwich.

"Don't mind him," Harry said comfortingly.

"No." Hermione said. "I am rubbish. And that's precisely why I need to go to London."

"Is that some sort of muggle ritual? When you're rubbish at something you make a pilgrimage to London? You should tell that to my Dad. He'd be even more fascinated than when you told him about functional steering wheels." Ron put the last of his sandwich in his mouth. Hermione scowled.

"I'm going because of Sherlock Holmes." Ron choked again.

"Let's get this straight, Hermione. You're leaving school to go to London in order to meet some bloke who you have no proof even exists except for some bloody website you read, so that you can solve a mystery that everyone already knows the answer to." Hermione looked angry.

"It's different than that. And who is it, then?"

"Huh?"

"Who's stealing? If 'everyone knows the answer', who is it?"

"Malfoy, obviously."

"You can't blame _everything_ on Malfoy, Ronald!"

"Yeah? Well, it would be a lot easier if he didn't turn out to actually be _behind_ everything." Hermione looked defiant.

"I'm going. You can't stop me. And it's not just the website, either. He was in the _Daily Prophet._ " She pulled a crumpled newspaper out of the beaded bag and smoothed it out on a small table for Harry and Ron to see. A picture of a tall, dark-haired man in a deerstalker hat continually adjusting his scarf adorned the front cover under the headline, ' _Sherlock a Wizard?'_ "Apparently he could be the one wizard who has never been to a school of magic and hasn't died or something. It says that he has to use nicotine patches sometimes, although he doesn't smoke, and that his dependence on substances may be just way to subdue an obscurus. They think he's too good at solving crimes to be just a muggle. It's the one _Daily Prophet_ article I've been able to read without wanting to rip it into shreds. Hogwarts needs him." Hermione looked resolute. Harry was confused.

"Dumbledore's agreed to this?"

"Yes, actually. I've got train tickets to London for tomorrow morning and back the next day. I'll have to pose as a tourist, but it'll work. His number's on the website. I called, and I can be there for 1 O'clock on the following day. He says it sounds like an interesting case." Ron looked floored.

"You'll be back for Hogsmeade, won't you?"

"Oh, yes, of course I will. Don't worry about it." Ron looked immensely relieved and slightly nauseated. "Are you alright, Ron?" Hermione said, concerned.

"Yeah, yeah, just… rheumatism."

"That's an old-fashioned word for arthritis." Hermione remarked skeptically. Harry heard Ron curse under his breath. He decided to improvise for his speechless friend.

"He means that his joints are troubling him. It's the rain." Hermione looked as though she didn't believe a word of it and glanced at the window, where shafts of sunlight shone into the common room. "Earlier. It rained earlier. While you were in class." Hermoine nodded slowly.

"Yeah.." Harry decided to change the subject quickly.

"When are you leaving, then?"

"Early." Hermione answered, successfully diverted to a different topic of conversation. "I'm taking a broom to the nearest small town, then a cab to the station, then the train. It'll be fun! I'll come back to Hogwarts with him the day after tomorrow." Harry nodded.

"Okay, Hermione. Do you want us to come?"

"I can handle it myself, thank you!" She retorted sharply.

"Look," Harry said, slightly annoyed, "I wasn't trying to-!"

"No, it's alright." Hermione sighed. "Just nervous."

"Why?"

"I'm going to meet Sherlock Holmes! He's practically famous! I'll see you later." Hermione smiled and danced up the steps to her dormitory. Ron watched her go.

"Well, _I'd_ never heard of him until she started up with that 'prediction' thing."

"Deduction." Harry corrected. Ron continued, oblivious.

"How can she be angry and then nervous and then happy for the same reason in the span of two minutes? I don't get it!" Hermione obviously heard him and yelled down the stairs,

"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon, doesn't mean we all have!"

Ron scowled. Harry laughed.

"Come on, Ron. I've heard Fred and George are starting a game of something they're calling 'extreme wizard chess', and I want to see exactly what they mean by 'extreme'."

"I don't get it…" Ron mumbled, before following Harry up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione arrived back at dinner two days later. Their time without her had been, although brief, rather agonizing. This was because they had been commissioned to write ten inches of parchment on the many meanings of the alignment of Jupiter and Neptune by Professor Flitwick (who was filling in for Professor Trelawney as she was feeling 'rather ill'). Unfortunately, as Harry and Ron had both fallen asleep in the candlelit, heavily perfumed divination classroom during this particular lesson, there was somewhat of a problem due to their limited knowledge of this topic. As both of them usually relied on Hermione for this dire type of situation, they were instead forced to consult Neville. Neville had helped them tremendously, but it was later discovered that he, too, had fallen asleep during divination and had no more expertise on the subject than Peeves (who also offered to help 'Potty and Weasel' do their homework, as they were obviously 'too stupid' to do it themselves). His reluctance to admit to this fact until all three boys stood outside the classroom waiting for class to begin resulted in panic and last-minute chaos. In the end, each of them failed miserably. Harry and Ron were more than happy to see Hermione return, face flushed with excitement. She squeezed in next to them at the Gryffindor table and gave a quick thumbs up.

" _Where is he?"_ Ron mouthed conspicuously. Hermione jerked her head toward the staff table.

"He's _teaching?"_ Harry muttered. Hermione nodded tightly.

"They're disguising him as the substitute divination teacher. Trelawney's sick anyway, so it's don't want the thief to panic and take an enormous supply of ingredients or throw themselves to the squid or something once they find the detective. He's really brilliant." Hermione was practically glowing with pride. Her expression faltered for a moment. "Er… Ron?" She turned red. Ron fidgeted.

"Yeah?"

"Were you… Did you put a note… um… Hogsmeade… er…" Ron's ears turned pink and he looked embarrassed. "Well, what I wanted to say was… was… yes. Yes." Ron turned white as a sheet.

"Yes? Really?" Hermione nodded. Harry stared, his mouth gaping.

'You…" He trailed off. Deciding that this was far too awkward a situation to navigate, Harry shifted away from Ron and Hermione and looked toward the teachers' table. Sherlock sat, looking keenly at the tablecloth, in Trelawney's usual position. He was tall and thin, with wavy dark hair and piercing eyes. He was not, Harry noticed, wearing the deerstalker hat. He found himself somewhat disappointed at this; somehow he had always pictured Sherlock in the hat. Maybe it was just the picture in the paper. Sitting beside Sherlock, however, was somebody else who Harry had never seen before. He was a small man who looked slightly sad and nervous. He was carrying a sort of crutch, and Harry noticed him typing at a laptop instead of paying attention to the other teachers or the students. McGonagall shot the man a disapproving look and muttered something indecipherable to Professor Dumbledore, who said something back very calmly. It was the first time Harry had ever seen Professor McGonagall roll her eyes. Hermione nudged him.

"That's John Watson. He's Sherlock's assistant."

"How on earth are they going to disguise _him_? The thief's bound to notice something's up."

"He's helping in the hospital wing, apparently." Harry nodded. He looked up at the ceiling of the great hall, where thousands of shimmering snowflakes tumbled gently through the air and vaporized, mimicking the outside weather perfectly. He glanced down and noticed that Ron had grasped Hermione's hand gently. Around the hall, faces shone from the excitement of classes and a crisp winter afternoon, and Dumbledore had a soft, peaceful expression on his face as he helped himself to a slice of pie. Harry did the same. He had a sudden thought.

"Hermione?"

"Yes Harry?"

"Are we… safe here?" Hermione looked confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"If he's really that good a detective, he'd have put people in prison. Not just, y'know, regular people, or regular criminals. He'd have put people in prison who can break out again, people who could find him again and who don't care who gets in their way, people who…" Harry trailed off, absent-mindedly mashing his pie with his fork.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous Harry. It's Hogwarts, for crying out loud! Nobody can get in, nobody can get out, with Dumbledore knowing about it." Harry nodded, but it still didn't feel right. People had gotten into Hogwarts before, horrible people, and Dumbledore hadn't known so long as they were in a clever enough disguise. Harry feIt slightly ill at ease.

"I think I'll go to bed." He told Ron and Hermione slowly. Ron looked at him with an odd expression.

"You okay, mate?"

"Yeah… yeah, I'm just… tired." Ron nodded without actually paying attention to him. Ron looked almost shocked holding Hermione's hand, like the ceiling and fallen down and they were miraculously the only survivors left for miles, alone in a vast field of sparkling snow. Harry walked slowly up to his dormitory. He passed Fred (or George) Weasley and Lee Jordan in the common room, who were levitating various objects and severely irritating Alicia. Dean Thomas sat in the corner with Seamus Finnigan, both of them desperately trying to think of something to write on their currently blank parchment to be handed to Snape the next day. Harry bypassed them all, simply walking up to his bed, and sitting quietly on the windowsill, alone. He looked out at the soft landscape, dark and blanketed in snow, and sighed. Hedwig was somewhere perching in the Owlery, and while he wanted to write to Sirius for his advice on the situation, it felt as though he couldn't move from his seated position on the cold stone, head leaning against the glass. He fell into a listless and uneasy sleep.

"Harry! Harry!" Harry blinked his eyes open, the room slowly coming into focus. Ron's blurry face suddenly leapt into view, and Harry was so startled that he leapt up and nearly killed Neville's potted plant. Sometime during the night he had shifted from the windowsill into his bed, although he didn't remember it. Ron was gesturing frantically. "Harry! You slept in!" Slept in… they didn't have class today, did they? No, they were going to Hogsmeade. But that was in at least an hour, wasn't it? "C'mon, mate! Get up." Harry grabbed his glasses blearily, rubbing his eyes.

"Ron… What on earth…?"

"My hair's a mess! I've got to get ready! Hermione, remember?"

"Ah, right." Harry thought about pointing out that Ron's hair was always a mess and that there was hardly any point in worrying about it, but he decided to humour his friend. "Okay. Fine. Just, be quick about it, alright? We have to have breakfast still."

"Okay." Ron muttered. "Okay. Alright. Okay." He busied himself by flicking his wand uselessly at his mop of ginger hair. After more than half an hour, Harry thought that Ron looked slightly more insane or severely electrocuted than he had at the beginning of the morning, but apart from that didn't notice much difference.

"Are you…Are you done, Ron?"

"Yeah." Ron was sweating profusely. "Let's go." The two boys exited the common room and set off down a staircase. It unfortunately redirected them to a disused lavatory before changing course back to the great hall. They arrived rather late and confused, stumbling upon Hermione already standing near the front doors. Ron was moaning about the platters of sausages they'd missed out on because of 'that bloody staircase', but stopped when he saw their friend, who was checking her watch. She brightened when she saw them approach.

"Oh, _there_ you are! Quickly, come on! It's freezing outside, and we don't want to be hanging around while Sherlock's doing his investigation. He's doing that today, you know. Looking for clues about the thief while the students are all out at Hogsmeade. He's not too great with people, in general. He says they'll just get in his way."

"Yeah, fine." Ron said vacantly. "Great."

"C'mon Ron." Harry laughed."Let's get butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks or something. You seem a little off." The three of them pushed their way through the front doors of the castle and walked briskly through the courtyard as their breath clouded in the air ahead. Snow crunched under Harry's feet, and he was once again glad that he was no longer required to wear his invisibility cloak on outings (butterbeer disappearing into thin air seemed to be more than a little disconcerting to some people, and he'd had to hide under tables to avoid being spotted). Hermione had a thoughtful expression on her face.

"That's really odd." She remarked casually, her brow furrowed in contemplation.

"What's odd?" Harry asked.

"Doctor Watson was using a laptop in Hogwarts. Technology goes haywire around magic. Everyone knows that."

"Yeah, that is strange. Isn't there a spell or an enchantment or something he could use to control it?"

"I wondered that too," Hermione said, "So I re-read _Hogwarts, A History_ last night."

"And?"

"Nothing. It's impossible to control technology around magic unless you have a code able to hack into the technology's system and open some sort of…. I don't know… coded barrier that prevents it from working and lets it be compatible with magic. But the hacker would have to control everything about the device; what the display was on the screen, volume, brightness, account details…everything. Otherwise the system wouldn't hold up whenever someone tried to use it. So you'd have to constantly be re-programming your computer to keep the barrier open while trying to use it, which would be pointless as you'd never get anything done." She paused. "Unless Dr. Watson wasn't the hacker."

"But who else would it be?" Asked Harry incredulously.

"Yeah," snorted Ron, "S'not like you're going to spend hours finding an impossible code and constantly keeping a system open just so that someone else can write a frumpy advice column, or whatever he was doing on there."

"He could have hired someone to hack it for him." Hermione suggested.

"Maybe." Harry said. "But why would you go to all the trouble of doing that? Besides, John's a muggle. Apparently they had to lift the enchantments for him to be able to see the castle at all. He wouldn't even know about the technology thing."

"Good point." The three of them had reached Hogsmeade successfully. "Okay, um…" Hermione glanced shiftily toward Madame Puddifoot's tea shop. Harry noticed she was holding hands with Ron. Ron was also looking at the tea shop, although with loathing and disgust.

"You aren't really thinking of going in there, are you?" Ron asked incredulously. Hermione blushed.

"Well, I thought it might be, you know, nice. Oh come on! It's only that frilly on Valentine's Day!"

"Still frilly." Ron grimaced.

"Oh, don't be daft, Ronald. Come on."

"Fine." Ron relented. "But if it's anywhere near as sickening as last time, I'll run outside. I really will, Hermione." They seemed to notice Harry for the first time.

"Oh, sorry." Hermione looked genuinely regretful. "You… you can come too, if you like."

"No, I'm alright. Thanks… though."

"Oh." Hermione said. "Well, if you're sure, then, er, we'll meet you in about two hours. Okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Don't worry, Harry. We won't be long." Ron grinned. Harry watched his two friends walk off, leaving him by himself.

"Have… have a good time!" He called out weakly. He watched them disappear inside the shop. "Don't worry about me! I'll just go have a butterbeer by myself or whatever."

He kicked a pile of snow angrily. Was this how life was going to be from now on? He walked slowly to the Three Broomsticks by himself and got a small table near the back, ordering two butterbeers instead of one from Madam Rosmerta. He figured that perhaps Ron really would come tearing out of Madame Puddifoot's tea shop in disgust, and they could sit there and drink butterbeers together. Maybe Hermione would come too, and they could split the drinks between them. But he didn't want to get three, because then it looked as though he was expecting people who never came. Two was excusable. Three looked desperate. He drank the warm, thick liquid in silence, butterscotch going unnoticed on his tongue. After an hour and a half with nobody else coming by, he finished the second butterbeer. Twenty minutes after the two hours were up, he got up quickly and left the pub in search of Ron and Hermione. He didn't care anymore if they _were_ snogging in that sickly tea shop. He'd go in and sit there until one of them said hello.

When he reached Madame Puddifoot's, he looked through the window angrily, peering through the condensation from the steam that wafted through the inside of the shop. Couples sat holding hands, drinking overly sweetened tea, and kissing over top of plates of cakes. It was almost too much to bear, watching these people who were completely oblivious to the _countless_ third wheel friends they had no doubt left behind to drink more than one butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks. However, there was no sign of Ron or Hermione anywhere in the shop. Harry walked furiously down the street. They'd left without telling him. He looked into the Three Broomsticks, in case they'd come to meet him, but they hadn't. He finally discovered them standing outside of some blue shop called "Doxies to Dragons", which had a much smaller sign nailed underneath reading,

"Due to liability issues, we sell neither Doxies nor Dragons and apologize sincerely for any inconvenience".

Ron was holding something fluffy and white in his arms. Harry approached them, fuming.

"What's _that_? Were you ever going to tell me? Or does only Hermione get to know?" There was a long silence. "Well?" Hermione spoke first.

"It's a rabbit, Harry. And we were just on our way to meet you! It just… took a while at the shop. Really, leaving you by yourself was a horrible thing to do! We're sorry."

"Oh, I see." Harry said loudly. "You're not separate people anymore, you're a 'we'."

"Lay off, mate." Ron responded. "It's not a big deal, really. We lost track of time. We weren't thinking. Besides, you have to see Irma!" Harry was confused.

"Irma?"

"The rabbit. Irma's short for something, but I forget what." Ron handed the fluffy creature to Harry, who resisted the urge to drop it.

"Isn't it lovely?" Hermione asked, beaming. Harry narrowed his eyes. There was something about the rabbit that repelled him. Maybe it was the annoying circumstances under which it was bought, or maybe it was one of those Crookshanks situations where some people were infatuated with the thing and others found it repulsive. Irma didn't seem to like him either. It bit him sharply on the finger.

"Ouch! Bloody rabbit!" Harry dropped Irma, who crawled pathetically to Hermione's feet.

"Careful, Harry! Don't hurt it!" Hermione scooped the rabbit into her arms.

"You know, if _it_ didn't hurt _me_ , that would be easier."

"It's just a rabbit, Harry." Ron interjected. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Of course it's a rabbit, but that doesn't change the fact that it's evil!"

"Oh, come on. It can't have pre-meditated that bite. It was just scared, that's all."

Harry shook his head, disgusted and annoyed.

"I'm going back to the castle. I'll stop in at the hospital wing, too. That thing could be rabid or infected with dragon pox."

He set off, his boots crushing the snow angrily with each step. He ignored Hermione's "Harry, Wait!" and kept walking. He couldn't believe it. Abandoned by Ron and Hermione. They'd always been there for him when no one else had, and now he was losing them to each other. Tears stung his eyes. Luna caught up with him as he neared Hogwarts, reading a battered edition of _The Quibbler,_ one which appeared to be upside down. She didn't say anything for a very long time. Then,

"I like Sherlock."

"Great." Harry replied unenthusiastically.

"He's really very smart. Father's done an article about him in here. He's got a theory that his Hogwarts letter was intercepted." Harry suppressed a snort.

"The Dursleys tried to intercept _my_ letter, and you can see how well _that_ turned out."

"Well, they obviously weren't very clever." Luna replied vacantly.

Despite himself, Harry knew she was right. They _hadn't_ been very clever. But what if they _had_ been? What if they'd known more about magic? Could somebody have ever possibly intercepted a Hogwarts letter? He turned to ask more about the article, but Luna had fallen far behind him and had put the magazine down. She was now beating her hands around her head fervently, looking as though she might be trying to swat away a swarm of midges. Her eyes were closed, and she was rotating slowly in a circle. Harry raised his eyebrows. He could see Ron and Hermione coming closer in the distance. He didn't want to deal with them or the bloody rabbit at the moment. Lessons would start again tomorrow. He didn't want to get behind on work, and there was a spell he desperately needed to practice for transfiguration. He kept going toward school.

That evening, he hardly spoke to Ron or Hermione. Instead, he helped Fred and George test out nosebleed nougat and skiving snack boxes on hapless first years (he didn't feel very guilty, as they each got a handful of knuts for participating). He checked his time table before bed.

"Hey!" He said to Seamus, who was lying in bed on the other side of the dormitory.

"Yeah Harry?"

"We've got divination third lesson."

"Aren't we being taught by Professor Holmes for that? Trelawney's sick or something?" Harry remembered that Seamus didn't know about Sherlock being a detective. Only him, Ron, and Hermione. He felt a sudden pang of regret.

"Yeah." Harry said. "It'll be weird. Wonder if he'll be better at it."

"It's hard to be _worse_ than Trelawney, isn't it?"

"True."

"Anyway, I'll see you in the morning, Harry."

"See you." He turned over in bed and closed his eyes. Ron entered the room a bit later, but Harry pretended to be asleep already. He'd forgiven his friend, but he didn't want to have an awkward conversation this late at night. He heard Ron sigh, collapse on his pillow and murmur,

"Night, Harry."

"Night."


	5. Chapter 5

The class shifted restlessly in their plush seats in the divination classroom. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were whispering together, annoyance scrawled on their faces at losing their favourite professor to some lunatic with poor interpersonal skills. At least, that was what he had heard Lavender whisper at the start of class. Harry checked the time. The new professor was ten minutes late. He wasn't sure whether or not be relieved about that- he might not come at all and divination would be cancelled, or possibly he was just very unorganized and would be a worse divination teacher than even Professor Trelawney. Hermione, who was sitting next to him, muttered something about irresponsibility. Suddenly, a man came barrelling through the door where Trelawney usually waltzed in from. He was very tall, and dressed in a sweeping coat with the collar turned upward. A blue scarf was pulled tightly under his chin.

"Rubbish!" He bellowed at the class. Nobody spoke. "RUBBISH!" His eyes were a vibrant, piercing blue as he stared angrily down at the students, each with a crystal ball and a worn textbook sitting on tables between them. Sherlock grabbed a crystal ball off the table closest to him and hurled it passionately at the wall, shattering it into a million pieces. There was a collective stunned gasp from the students. Then, very slowly, somebody clapped. Somebody else joined in. Harry soon found himself swept along with the rest of the crowd, clapping and cheering loudly while Sherlock basked in the glory of the moment, whirling about the classroom and smashing more crystal balls in a rage. Only Parvati, Lavender, and Hermione weren't cheering enthusiastically (although Hermione admitted afterward that she would've clapped if he hadn't damaged school property, as she 'hated Trelawney violently for her lacklustre teaching methods'). When the noise died down, the new professor opened a large cardboard box sitting on his desk.

"We are going to use microscopes from now on in this class." Sherlock announced. "I'm going to assume you all know how to operate one." Nobody objected or moved. "Right. All of you, please, come up and grab one. Oh, come on! Your tiny little brains have to be capable of comprehending _that_ much at least. You have to grab," Sherlock mimed taking hold of a microscope, "The microscope," here he pretended to show everybody the imaginary microscope, "And then bring it back," he walked exaggeratedly in place, "To your tables." He pointed to a table like a kindergarten teacher at a chart of the weather. Silently, the class stood and did as they were asked. Hermione cleared her throat and raised her hand. "Yes?"

"Most of us know about microscopes. Those from muggle families, that is. The rest of the class mightn't know how to use them." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Look through the little lens, everybody! The object on the tray will look _bigger_!" As he said bigger, he stretched his hands widely to imitate the word. Hermione nervously raised her hand again. "Yes?" Sherlock looked annoyed.

"Do you know anything about divination?" Sherlock laughed incredulously.

"Hi-laar-ious! All of you! My god, what did they teach you here before I arrived?!"

"How to actually tell the future!" Parvati said defiantly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and touched his fingers and thumbs together in a strange hand position.

"You're going back to London with your sister, Padma, for the summer holidays. She wants to go but you don't, judging by the state of your robes…" He trailed off. "Oh, you've got a date tonight! The look on Dean's face says it's with him, but he didn't want Seamus to know about it, did he? That's why he looks so surprised, even though they're supposed to be friends or something. Do remember to feed your owl tonight, by the way. Lavender told you she remembered to feed him, but she really forgot and just feels bad about saying so to your face. I can see her denying it now, but she's lying. Check his food dish before she gets there- she's intending to top it up before you see it and claim that I was wrong about everything. Neither of you like me. You preferred Trelawney, didn't you? I really can't see why. She was a dull old bat at the best of times, from what I've heard." The class fell silent.

"Whoah…" Ron whispered. Harry could tell by the look on Parvati's face that Sherlock had gotten almost everything right, and also offended her immensely.

"So no, I can't _exactly_ tell the future. But I can tell the present, which matters more. Now, everybody, put away your textbooks. We are going to learn today about the science of deduction!" Hermione raised her hand again.

"Science? Not magic?" Sherlock looked even more annoyed.

"Call it anything you like. Fine. Today we're going to learn about the _magic_ of deduction. Better?" He put on an expression which could have been intended to be fun and inviting, but actually looked more like he had a severe case of indigestion. Somebody asked quietly if he was alright. He looked confused. "I'm _smiling._ " Silence. "Okay, then! Well, as everybody has a microscope now, we can begin. Can anybody tell me what small dogs do differently than larger dogs?" Nobody raised their hands. "Oh, really. This is simple." Sherlock paused. "Very well. Larger dogs jump up on people's shoulders. Smaller dogs sit in laps, hence the term 'lapdog'. Cats are carried. So depending on where animal fur is stuck to somebody's clothes, you can determine what type of animal they may keep as a pet. Now, it also depends on the person. Tell me, what would an old woman with no history of being a veterinarian and poor physical fitness with short fur stuck to her sweater most likely own?" Hermione raised her hand immediately, followed by Ron, Harry, and several other students. "Ronald? Or… er… Ron! Is it Ron?"

"Uh… yeah. So, the lady… she'd have a cat, right? She wouldn't be able to carry a dog, and since the hair's on her sweater, she'd have to have picked the animal up."

"WRONG! You missed almost _everything_. She'd have a cat, but she'd have more than one. Addidtionally, it would have long and unkempt fur. Most likely an American Longhair. Now, what if the lady had a ring on her ring finger? Miss Brown?"

"Well, that means she's married."

" _Very_ observant. What if the ring was on a necklace? Miss Granger?"

"She might be a widow. But it was most likely a long, happy marriage. Otherwise she wouldn't think of the ring as so important to her." Hermione paused. "Unless she wanted to fool somebody into thinking that it was a long, happy marriage, and just put the necklace on at the last minute. But you could figure that out by the state of the ring, couldn't you?" Sherlock looked surprised.

"Tell me how."

"Well, it would be well-worn if she had it on all the time. She'd have rubbed away the polish, and there might be marks from the chain on the inside. If it was dirty or hardly touched, it would be fake."

"Would there be marks from the chain if she didn't wear it?"

"No. The weight of it hanging on her neck and moving would be what made the marks." Sherlock nodded. Harry gaped at Hermione, who was glowing with pride.

"For somebody of your age and intelligence, that _is_ rather clever. I hope the rest of you heard that, because I'll be showing you photos of objects and you'll be identifying the wearer from a chart on the side. And if your expressions were anything to go by, you'll need a lot of help." He started passing around slips of paper to each table. Then he paused. "WRONG! NO! WRONG!" He bellowed at the students ferociously. Harry gulped. "Sorry about that." Sherlock scrunched up his eyes and grinned at the class manically. There was a tense silence. "I'm _smiling_ at you!" Silence. "Okay. Well, er, fill out your sheets. Use your microscopes. I'll just be outside." He strode quickly to the door of the classroom and shut it loudly behind him. The class immediately broke into excited chatter.

"He's completely _mental!_ " Ron gasped. "Off his rocker!"

"Well," Parvati sniffed, "I think he was simply offensive."

"He was bloody _brilliant!"_ Seamus said enthusiastically. "I haven't enjoyed divination for ages!" Harry glanced at his sheet. The object in question was an old pair of glasses with a chip in the frame and foggy lenses. He looked at his options for the owner of glasses and saw nothing at all which could help him deduce who it was. He glanced shiftily at Hermione's paper, where she had circled a teenage boy with curly hair and a baggy jacket. He did the same. The class became quiet for a while as people began to fill out their sheets. Then,

"He's not even coming back, is he?" This remark came from the back of the room. Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy grinning sarcastically. "He's a horrible teacher. My father'll have him fired the minute he finds out we've been using muggle equipment."

"Shut up Malfoy." The words came automatically from Harry's mouth. He didn't even have to think about them anymore. He saw Malfoy flinch. That was different. He felt a pang of regret for what he'd said. Before he could apologize, Ron said loudly,

"Yeah, shut up!" Harry looked down.

"I'm going to get him." He walked to the back of the classroom and out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry entered the hallway outside of the divination classroom, looking for the teacher who had so suddenly left class. He understood that Sherlock _was_ detective and had other things to do than teach, but _overhauling the entire divination program and promptly disappearing_? Maybe that was a bridge too far. He was disappointed to find that Sherlock was nowhere in sight.

"Er… Professor Holmes? I have a question." Harry said loudly. There was no response. Perhaps Sherlock was in his office. Maybe he'd gone to the hospital wing to visit John about something. Harry decided to check there; if he couldn't find his professor he'd lie about having a sore throat. He started down the staircases and made his way across the castle, thankful not to encounter Peeves along the way. Sir Cadogan stood in his painting as Harry walked quickly past him, trying not catch the attention of the knight or his fat pony, which would lead to questions about why he was out of class. Fortunately, Sir Cadogan had fallen asleep leaning against a stable. Harry reached the hospital wing quickly, startling Madam Pomfrey as he burst through the doors. "Excuse me?" Harry asked. "Have you seen, er, Professor Holmes?" Madam Pomfrey smiled kindly.

"Yes dear, he's got a nasty stomach ache, apparently. Probably nerves on his first day of class, if you ask me. He's just through there with Dr. Watson." She nodded toward double doors on the other side of the hospital wing. Harry thanked her and pushed them open, walking inside. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock thrust a hand over his mouth.

"Be quiet!" He growled. Harry nodded. The area through the doors, which had once been another ordinary area of the hospital wing, had been turned into a sort of laboratory. Microscopes much more expensive than the ones used in divination were set up on hospital beds, and random potion ingredients were lined up neatly on a trolley. Doctor Watson was mixing ashwinder eggs with pearl dust in a large cauldron.

"What are you _doing_?" Harry whispered. He noticed the ingredients lined up on the trolley. There were more ashwinder eggs and pearl dust, but also a pile of what appeared to be rose thorns, fine white powder, and something that smelled strongly of peppermint. Harry gagged. He recognized the smell, but he couldn't say where he recognized it from. It reminded him of pumpkin juice, for some strange reason.

"Experimenting." Sherlock said in an irritated tone. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, we're trying to work here."

"You can't just leave the class! I mean, I know you're only posing as a teacher, but-"

"How do you know that? How!" Sherlock demanded.

"I'm Hermione's friend. She only told me and Ron- you remember him, from divination? Don't worry. I can help you, if you like?" Sherlock looked as though he was about to strangle Harry and throw him out the window, but John, who was looking up from the cauldron, stepped in.

"Come on. He really could help us out! We don't know the first thing about potions." John smiled. Sherlock looked scathing.

" _You_ don't know the first thing about potions. I, on the other hand, have researched them extensively."

"Yeah?" Harry asked sarcastically. "What do those ingredients make, then?"

"We don't know." John said carefully. "We only know that these are the ingredients that have been stolen, so we're trying to brew a potion with them and see what it does. To find a motive. Just today, they've discovered even more ingredients missing. But we're starting with these, since these were the only things missing at first." Sherlock paced the room.

"Can you tell us what these ingredients are used for?" He asked Harry sharply.

"Er, okay?" Harry tried to remember his potions lessons that had not been spent losing a ridiculous number of Gryffindor's points to Snape. "What exactly are they?"

"Ashwinder eggs, pearl dust, rose thorns, powdered moonstone, and crushed peppermint. All have been stolen in abundance. And other things have been stolen since these." Sherlock went to one of his microscopes and examined an ashwinder egg carefully. Harry racked his brain. They didn't need him here! They needed Hermione; she'd know exactly which potion was being brewed. He thought he remembered something about a Peruvian gold draft from a lesson a while ago, but that didn't account for the rose thorns or peppermint. It also contained gold leaf and some sort of chopped root. Suddenly, the doors burst open with a bang. Harry turned, expecting Madam Pomfrey with some sort of medical emergency, but he was unpleasantly surprised.

"You could get sacked for this!" Malfoy's sneering voice rang shrilly. "Leaving class to brew potions!" Pansy Parkinson stood at his side, hands on her hips.

"Draco's right, you know. Once his father finds out, you two will be the ministry's problem, not Dumbledore's." Harry felt ill. They must have followed him here from class without him noticing. "I can't believe _you're_ the famous Professor Holmes. Malfoy's told me all about you. Making one of your deductions? With potions ingredients? How do we know you aren't the thief?"

"Because he showed up _after_ the ingredients went missing!" John said angrily.

Sherlock looked up briefly from his microscope at Malfoy, and the looked back down at the ashwinder egg."Gay."

Pansy's smug smile faded. "Sorry, what?" Sherlock raised his head as if realizing what he had just done.

"Nothing." He flashed a false smile at Malfoy. "Um, hey!" Malfoy froze, an expression of confusion on his face. He moved quickly backward, accidentally knocking over a dish of rose thorns on the trolley. "Whatever you think you're playing at, you're a madman!" Malfoy shrieked.

"We should go, Pansy. I should finish my worksheet." He had turned beet red and was frantically backing out of the doors. "My father will hear about this! Mark my words!" He turned and ran outside into the hospital wing. John smirked.

"You really have to stop doing that, Sherlock. People _notice_ when you call them gay."

"What did you mean, 'gay'?" Pansy asked, flushing furiously. "We're together!"

"Did you _see_ the amount of hair product he was wearing?" John rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come on. _I_ wear hair product."

"You _wash_ your hair, there's a difference. And he had tinted eyelashes." Pansy opened her mouth to protest, but Sherlock cut her off.

"There's also the extremely suggestive fact that he just slipped what appears to be his number into Harry's textbook." Harry's eyes widened. He saw a slip of paper sticking out from between the pages of ' _The Dream Oracle'_ which he had carried with him by mistake. Suddenly, something clicked. He remembered the smell of the potion from a package of chocolates once given to Ron by accident. And his pumpkin juice.

"Love potion!" He yelled. "Someone's brewing a love potion!"

"Shh!" Sherlock said with annoyance. "I've just solved the case." Harry stared.

"But-"

"Where did that 'Draco' boy go? John! After him!" Sherlock charged out of the room, followed by John, who shrugged apologetically. Harry watched them go, then fingered the sip of paper. He slid it out of the book. It read:

Harry- 1:00, Dungeons. Urgent.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry tiptoed through the pitch black dormitory. The fire had been extinguished in the grate, leaving only the pleasant smell of wood and smoke and a warm feeling. Ron was snoring loudly, his Chudley Cannons poster tacked to his bedpost fluttering with each exhalation. Pigwidgeon zoomed around his cage, chirping manically, as though someone had fed him sleepless sherbet again from Fred and George's collection of nauseating sweets. In fact, considering the suspicious expressions on the twins' faces the previous day, he'd probably been fed all sorts of things not intended to be consumed by people, let alone owls. Once again, Harry was thankful that Irma the rabbit was staying in Hemione's dormitory. It was 12:30. Hopefully Harry wouldn't encounter anybody else while he made his way downstairs to the dungeons. He crept through the common room and out the door, passing the portrait of the fat lady, who was snoring contentedly against a wall. Making his way down several staircases, he felt progressively more anxious. Would he get to the dungeon only to be jinxed by a laughing Crabbe and Goyle, and strung up in the Slytherin common room as some sort of bizarre trophy? He had no idea what Slytherins found amusing, after all. He at last reached the dark, slimy corridors of the dungeons. As he passed the potions classroom, he thought about Professor Snape, who currently was filling in for the new defence against the dark arts teacher, 'due to arrive any day' according to Dumbledore. Harry wondered who it would be. He had only ever had two defence against the dark arts teachers that he had liked, and one had turned out to be a werewolf (although a very decent werewolf, as they come). The other had attempted to murder him. Harry continued past the wall which he knew would reveal the passageway to the Slytherin common room, if he had only known the password, and entered a dark room next to Filch's office. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Filch's office was abandoned, and would be for a long time while Filch and his demonic cat prowled the school in search of students out of bed. He leant against a rough table and waited in the darkness. Suddenly, a silhouette appeared in the doorway. "I didn't think you'd come." Malfoy's nervous voice was quiet.

"I was curious." Harry shrugged.

"Are you alone? Did you bring Ron or Hermione?"

"Of course I'm alone! Do you think I could possibly bribe Ron or Hermione to come down to the dungeons to meet you in the middle of the night?" Malfoy asked again.

"Are you positive? Nobody followed you?"

"No."

"Okay." Malfoy's voice shook. "I have something to tell you."

"What is it? It must be important." Harry was anxious now. Was this a trick?

"I'm the thief. I've been the one stealing all the potions ingredients."

"What?!" Why would Draco Malfoy be brewing a love potion? "Come on! Pansy's head over heels for you already without magic!"

"That's the thing, though, Harry." Malfoy said quietly. "I'm not head over heels for _her._ The potion wasn't for Pansy." He took a deep breath. "It was for… well, it was for you." Harry hoped that the darkness concealed his blush.

"Thanks, er… um, thanks."

"Yeah. I've stopped trying to slip it into your pumpkin juice, though." Malfoy laughed. "It didn't seem to be working. And that's why I had to talk to you, actually."

"Because your love potion wasn't working properly?" Harry laughed nervously. He felt slightly dizzy.

"No." Harry could hear the smile in Malfoy's voice, before he became serious again. "No. It's because I've stopped."

"What?"

"I'm not stealing the ingredients anymore. I've stopped. But that weird professor, when he caught me today, he figured out the whole story. Except for one thing. He thought I was still stealing. More ingredients have started going missing, apparently. Not love potion ingredients. Darker things. I used to be the thief, but I've stopped. And things are still disappearing." Malfoy had climbed up and was sitting on the tabletop beside Harry. Harry blinked.

"So there's a second thief, other than yourself. A new thief."

"Yes. I mean, students steal ingredients for love potions all the time. But the new things that are being stolen… they're really awful apparently. We don't even use them in potions class." Harry shivered. "I don't know what they are."

"Who do you think it could be? The new thief?"

"I don't know. Maybe a sixth or seventh year? Nobody in our year or below can brew a potion that complex. Even Granger."

"I'll try and look into it. If I see anything suspicious, I'll tell Dumbledore." There was a silence. "We can tell him that it was the same person stealing both sets of ingredients, if you want. I can ask Professor Holmes to withhold the information about… _you._ "

"Thanks, Harry." Malfoy sighed. "You're a good person. You know that?" Harry smiled in the darkness.

"You are, too. Sometimes I wonder why we seem to hate each other so much."

"Keeping up appearances, I guess." Malfoy' voice was sarcastic. "Isn't that what this is all about? You win the house cup at the last minute, Slytherin comes a close second, we remain bitter rivals. Nobody looks past the crests on our robes. We aren't people anymore. You're so pure and good. Dumbledore loves you. And I'm awful. I even have my own little gang of thugs. It all just keeping up appearances, Harry." His voice broke on 'Harry', and he stifled a sob.

"It's okay." Harry reached out across the table to the boy sitting beside him. He saw Malfoy's hand, cool and soft in the darkness. And for a boy who had had to do so many things requiring bravery, he was surprised to find he was afraid. This was a test, he realized. He knew how he felt. But showing it was the most terrifying thing he had ever done. "I'm a little scared. I'm sorry." He admitted in a whisper.

"That's fine." Malfoy said quietly. "I'm scared too." He held Harry's hand, ever so gently. And Harry held his hand in return. They sat together for a long time; talking sometimes, sometimes just being quiet. Harry kept worrying that his hand was getting sweaty and moving it away, but Draco always took it gently back. After a while, Harry whispered that he should get to sleep. Malfoy nodded, and jumped down lightly from the tabletop onto the floor. Harry did the same. The two boys stared at each other for a long time. Finally, Harry hugged Malfoy softly.

"You should've been in Hufflepuff." He whispered. Malfoy laughed.

"I'd make a fantastic Hufflepuff. You would too. Maybe it would be easier if we were both in Hufflepuff. Neither one of us good, neither one of us bad." He kissed Harry gently on the cheek. "Goodnight, Harry." Harry stared at him for a moment, not quite able to believe what had just happened. He shook himself and smiled.

"Goodnight, Malfoy."


	8. Chapter 8

"Harry! Harry!" Harry rolled opened his eyes painfully. He was so exhausted that he had a headache. Ron's dishevelled hair popped in and out of view, looking to Harry without his glasses on as though the dormitory was burning down. "You slept in, mate! I woke you up forty minutes ago, but you whispered something about love and tried to punch me." Suddenly, the events of last night came flooding back to him. Instead of feeling terrified, however, Harry felt an immense wave of relief and warmth.

"Thanks, Ron. Did we miss breakfast?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. I went down by myself because I thought you were coming, but then you didn't." Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and slid on his glasses.

"Kind of you." He remarked with sarcasm. Ron chose to ignore this.

"Why _were_ you so tired this morning, anyway? Up late writing to Sirius or something?"

"Er, yeah." Harry lied. "Long letter. You know, telling him about the detective and the thief and whatnot." Ron nodded.

"Sirius always has good advice with that type of thing. You'll be getting a reply soon, I expect?" Harry realized that he should probably write a letter that night to solidify his story with a response from his godfather. He nodded convincingly in agreement.

"Any day now, yeah."

"Looking forward to it, actually. Things have gotten insane around here lately. The new defence against the dark arts teacher's due to arrive tomorrow. Until then we still have to deal with Snape. Snape's bloody awful, you know that?" Ron pounded his fist on the edge of Harry's bed, startling Pigwidgeon. "He's commissioned us to write not ten, not twelve, but _fourteen_ inches of parchment on some rubbish about grindylow feeding habits. He can't honestly expect us to fill more than half an inch of parchment on _algae,_ for crying out loud, but apparently he wants a solid three inches! About algae! The man's even more of a nutter than Sherlock is, and that's saying something." Harry whole-heartedly agreed. Suddenly, something occurred to him.

"But wait, Ron! Won't we be late for class?"

"No, there's an assembly in the great hall this morning. Dumbledore's probably introducing the new teacher before they arrive. Or maybe they caught the thief! " Ron brightened. "Then quidditch can start up again! Angelina's been going mad about this whole situation." Harry decided to tell Ron at least part of the story.

"We know who the thief was."

"Who?"

"Draco Malfoy."

"I knew it!" Ron grinned. "That pompous balloon's about to get deflated! His bloody father'll hear about _this,_ that's for sure! This is the best news I've had in years!" Harry interjected.

"Not quite. See, Malfoy _was_ the thief. He was brewing a love potion for… er, Pansy Parkinson, and then Sherlock figured it out. But he's stopped, now, and things are still disappearing from Snape's private stores."

"Oh." Ron looked confused. "So the thief is still at large?" Harry nodded.

"Except whatever they're brewing now, it isn't a love potion. I don't know what it is, but it doesn't sound good."

"Still, Sherlock'll figure it out in no time, eh? Nothing to worry about." Ron clapped Harry on the back. "Let's get downstairs, or we'll be late for the assembly."

Several minutes later, the two boys made their way to the great hall. Students were crowded at every house table, chatting and laughing to one another, blurring into a great wall of noise. Harry instinctively looked toward the Slytherin table, looking for one boy in particular. Malfoy was there, looking toward the doors of the great hall. Their eyes met briefly, and Harry smiled. Malfoy smiled in return. Ron grabbed Harry's arm.

"Come on, mate! Hermione's saved us a spot!" Their friend was waving at them from the Gryffindor table, her bushy hair unbrushed. "She didn't come down for breakfast either." Ron whispered as they neared the benches. Hermione looked decidedly frazzled.

"Irma was acting up." Hermione scowled. "Getting agitated over the littlest things, and turning her nose up at the lettuce!" Harry rolled his eyes. Ron nodded sympathetically. "I can't understand it!"

"S'all right, Hermione." Ron attempted to be comforting. "Next time we go to Hogsmeade we'll talk to the man who sold her to us and ask what she'd like to eat." Harry lost interest in the dull conversation very quickly. He scanned the great hall, looking to the teachers' table.

Strangely, apart from John and Sherlock, there was a new addition. It was a lady- but it could also have been a rather large, pale toad dressed in a frilly pink coat and hat. She had an air of importance that suggested she'd been at Hogwarts much longer than she actually had, and was surveying the students much as a toad might survey a group of unsuspecting flies. Harry felt a strange sense of revulsion. Dumbledore was sitting in his chair peacefully, talking to Professor McGonagall about something. Suddenly he stood, and walked to the lectern where he usually made speeches and announcements, clearing his throat. The students fell silent, conversations breaking away into mumbled phrases and then nothing at all.

"Good morning, students! You may be wondering why we've gathered here, instead of going to lessons as usual. Let me assure you, I have good news! Our new defence against the dark arts teacher has arrived early from the ministry of magic itself! I am very pleased to welcome Professor Umbridge, an esteemed scholar of the highest calibre. Quidditch practices, as many of you are curious about, will-" Dumbledore paused. From the teachers' table, there came a very small and polite cough.

"Hem hem." It was coming from the lady dressed in pink. The students gasped collectively. Nobody interrupted Dumbledore during a speech, especially not newcomers with no idea what they were doing.

"Who does that old bat think she is?" Ron whispered.

"Yeah, what's she playing at?" Lee Jordan asked from across the table. Dumbledore seemed to sum the whole event up to a mistake, and continued speaking.

"Will resume as usual, due to an unexpected turn of events." He finished. Harry and Ron exchanged joyful glances.

"Hem _hem_." Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, Professor Umbridge? Do you wish to say something?" The professor stood up and smiled widely and hungrily.

"If I could please address the students, Headmaster?" It didn't really appear to be a question. Dumbledore smiled pleasantly, sitting down smartly.

"Of course you may, Professor." Umbridge stood and walked to the lectern.

"My my!" She exclaimed in a sugary voice. "Isn't it lovely to be back at Hogwarts again! And to see such happy little faces smiling up at me." The faces in the audience (which were neither happy nor little, in most cases) looked up at her with mixed expressions of horror. Umbridge brought out a stack of salmon-coloured paper from her handbag (also pink), and cleared her throat. "Hem hem." Ron looked stricken.

"She's going to make a speech." He whispered. Harry looked at the rest of the teachers' table, where Professor McGonagall was rubbing her forehead as if to alleviate a headache, and Snape looked even more than usual as though he had smelled something disgusting.

"Now, the ministry of magic thoroughly condones the decisions made by the Headmaster and the collective body of students at this high institution of education." Sherlock rolled his eyes and got to his feet. "However, let it be said that progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged." He marched toward the lectern. "I am of the firm opinion that education should be of a certain degree in order to enlighten our future generations; that is, I think that-"

"Yes, thank you for your input!" Sherlock swept Umbridge aside with his arm. She stumbled and looked quite offended.

"Professor Holmes!"

"Oh _please._ You might be of abnormally low intelligence, but even you have to be able to grasp that _no one is listening to you._ " He gestured to the tables of Hogwarts students, who looked stunned. Sherlock addressed them all with a grimace of a smile. "Moral of the story, everybody, the ministry's interfering at Hogwarts. And Umbrage here-"

"Umbridge." Umbridge corrected.

"And Umbrage here is planning on becoming something she calls 'High Inquisitor' of Hogwarts, meaning she will be able to inspect lessons and fire teachers at her own will. And by the way, she's here late because her travel agent messed up the dates and times and then lost her train tickets." Sherlock winked. Ron leaned over to Harry.

"He's off his rocker. Bloody raving lunatic!" He reached into a paper bag of jelly slugs and chewed one thoughtfully. Harry stared at the teacher's table in shock, along with most of the other students. Sherlock sat down again, seemingly unaware of what he'd done. Dumbledore attempted to restore order quickly.

"Now, that is a serious accusation, Professor Holmes." He smiled kindly. "I am sure you had the best of intentions, but is there really any proof? We are all a little confused."

"And more than a little offended." Added Umbridge. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"For god's sake, look at her hand!" Sherlock exclaimed. Harry was mystified. Apparently, so was Dumbledore.

"Would you mind… elaborating on that, Professor?" He raised his eyebrows. Professor Snape jumped into the argument.

"Professor Dumbledore, if I may interject… I see no reason why we should believe this man. He is obviously very… troubled." Sherlock's eyes flashed.

"How's that tattoo feeling, Severus? On your left arm, I believe?" There was a collective gasp.

"You insufferable-" Dumbledore cut Snape off as he strode across the stage.

"Please, everybody, calm down. For now, Professor Umbridge will take up her post as she would have if this incident had not occurred. However, we will take Professor Holmes' words into account. Prefects, please lead students back to their dormitories." A torrent of whispers descended upon the Great Hall as the students filed out. After reaching their dormitories, they were informed that they would be returning to Hogsmeade for the day while this dilemma was sorted out. Hermione seemed greatly relieved. Irma had not been eating well of late, apparently, and she was planning on speaking to the owner of the pet shop about the matter. Harry pitied whoever it was.


	9. Chapter 9

They left quickly, Hermione pulling on a wool hat and coat before attempting to dress Irma the same way in a small rabbit-sized outfit which she had knit herself. She seemed to think it would be a good idea, as did Lavender Brown, who suggested that the outfit be a shocking shade of pink. Harry was almost grateful when Irma escaped from Hermione's clutches and hid in the girl's lavatory, as the overall effect of the sickening rabbit in such a sickening outfit may have had ill effects on his health. In the end, Hermione decided against her humanitarian principles and simply put the rabbit in a crate to take to the pet shop. She nearly sprinted out of the front doors, overwhelmed by the need to take care of her nauseating pet rabbit, with Ron trailing behind at a distance. Harry, not about to be drawn into the dilemma, headed swiftly in the opposite direction.

Trudging though snow by himself, Harry felt annoyed. Ron and Hermione had done it _again._ Just run off together, leaving Harry alone, possibly so that he could go (again) to The Three Broomsticks and (again) buy more than one butterbeer. Maybe he would have to go (again) to Madam Puddifoot's and look (again) upon the swathes of nauseating couples. And maybe he would find that (again) they hadn't cared enough to even tell him where they were going. He, Ron, and Hermione had always been a team. There were _three_ members of the team, no more, no less. And Harry was finding it increasingly as if there were only two. He sighed. He should be happy for them. He was, in a way. But there was something else. Was it… jealousy?

It was.

Harry was jealous.

Jealous that his friends were spending more time with each other than they were with himself, but jealous of something else too.

Ron and Hermione could walk around together and hold hands and go to that sickening tea shop and no one would blink twice. But him and Malfoy? No. It would never work. People would stare. They would whisper. There were things at stake with him and Malfoy, reputations, house pride, that weren't there with Ron and Hermione. He knew how he felt about the Slytherin boy, but it was impossible for a… a… a _relationship_ to work. Not even a _friendship._ He kicked the snow. Suddenly, a ball of the cold powder flew at his mouth and exploded on his face.

"Gah!" He coughed. It was like the entire world had conspired to laugh at him. At that moment, he heard a stifled giggle from behind a tree. Had someone _thrown_ that snow at him? Another clump hit him in the face, sending him sprawling on the ground. He couldn't help but laugh at himself, humiliating though it was. "Who's there?"

In response, another fluffy bit of snow launched itself at him from behind the tree. Harry lay laughing in the cold powder, wiping the icy wetness from his face. Whoever his attacker was, they weren't malicious. "Show yourself!" Harry chortled. A pale face leaned from behind the gnarled tree, laughing along with Harry, hair tousled and eyes twinkling. Harry's heart stopped. "Malfoy?"

"Potter?" It was the voice he'd been programmed to loathe, but it was a welcome sound as he lay laughing in the snow.

"That wasn't funny." Harry chuckled.

"Yes it was." Malfoy grinned, his entire face lighting up. "Why are you even here anyway? Hogsmeade is a quarter of a mile to your left." Harry smirked.

"Why are _you_ here?" Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"You should really pay attention, Potter. You'd know when you were being followed." Harry blushed. He hoped it was concealed by the rosy patches on his cheeks. "So… what _are_ you doing here?" Malfoy asked again. Harry shrugged.

"Mostly avoiding Hermione and Ron. Her bloody rabbit's eating poorly." Malfoy shook his head.

"I don't like Granger." Harry stiffened. Malfoy continued. "It doesn't mean… argh! Look, Harry, do you like Crabbe and Goyle?" Harry shook his head. "Do you like me?" Harry paused, before he remembered last night. How could he lie? He nodded slowly. Malfoy turned slightly pink. "Well, I like you. But not Granger or Weasley." Harry understood. Kind of. He just shrugged.

"I guess I get it." Malfoy sat down beside him.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm sorry for being so awful sometimes. But I'm in Slytherin. Sometimes we're awful. If I'm being completely honest, I don't like Crabbe and Goyle all that much either. My Christmas pudding had more brain cells than the two of them combined. But not everyone is…" Malfoy blew a puff of frozen air at a lock of hair in his eye, "nice. In fact, not everyone is good. But not everyone is evil, either. Most of us are somewhere in-between." Malfoy straightened. "Which reminds me!" He pulled two bottles of butterbeer from his schoolbag. "I'm not _completely_ evil either." He tossed one to Harry.

"Hey, thanks! Er… Draco." The Slytherin grinned and popped the cap off his butterbeer. Harry did the same.

"A toast!" Draco smiled, his breath clouding in the wintry air. "To first dates." Harry's eyes widened. "First dates in general." Malfoy added hastily. "Not that that's what this is, necessarily. Just… er… that first dates are cool! Because this isn't a first date. Not at all." He laughed nervously. Harry shook his head.

"Definitely not. This isn't a first date." Draco's face fell a fraction. "This is a _second_ date." The Slytherin grinned widely.

"Bit of a weird _first_ date, then. Oh, well. To _second_ dates!" He raised his warm bottle to Harry's and clinked them together. Harry laughed and took a swig of butterbeer. He leaned onto Draco's shoulder. Harry felt the other boy stiffen, then relax into him.

"Nice date, Malfoy. I appreciate the spontaneous butterbeer, and demand more at our upcoming _third_ date." Draco chuckled.

"Anything for my boyfriend." Harry froze. _Boyfriend. Was Malfoy his boyfriend? Was this even a date? He was so confused._ He decided then, since Malfoy had taken that plunge, to take a plunge of his own.

"I have an idea for a second toast." Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "A toast to… first kisses." Harry saw a tiny smile creep onto Draco's face. "Because they're… er… cool." Draco placed his butterbeer in a nearby snowdrift and whispered,

"Spectacular idea." Harry shoved his own bottle in the snow and leaned closer to Draco, who leaned closer in return. The Gryffindor wrapped his arms around the Slytherin. They were millimetres apart now, eyes locked together. Closer, closer, closer. And then, very softly, Harry pressed his lips to Draco Malfoy's. It was magic. Draco tasted like butterscotch and peppermint, and his lips were soft as the sweaters that Mrs. Weasley knit at Christmas and just as warm. _Oh my Godric._ Harry wasn't sure whether he would ever be able to stop kissing this boy, whether they would have to give up their education and lie in the snow in this perfect forever. It was a warm feeling, this kissing. Like Christmas lights in the dark. Like buying a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and not getting a _single_ nasty flavour. Like nothing mattered anymore, not the fact that they were in separate houses, or that they were supposed to hate each other, or whatever else people would find to say about them. None of it mattered compared to Draco and Draco's lips and the warmth of having someone lying next to him in the snow.

He never wanted it to end.

Walking back to the castle in a daze after his most wonderful and excellent second date, Harry never noticed a girl with frizzy hair and a panicked expression barrelling into him while walking backward. He looked up from his trance, shocked.

"Um, Hermione?" The girl, who was indeed Hermione, turned round abruptly.

"Harry! Where on earth _were_ you? Ron and I have been all over Hogsmeade trying to find you!" Harry began to mumble a weak excuse about getting lost in a snow drift, but Hermione cut him off (much to his relief). "It doesn't matter. Ron and I went to the pet shop!" Harry suddenly remembered the purpose for Hermione's rush to Hogsmeade. He felt rather ill at the thought of an explanation about the inner workings of a rabbit's digestive system. However, _that_ didn't seem to be what was troubling his friend. Ron appeared from behind a tree, not walking at his usual leisurely pace.

"Yeah Harry. It was… weird. Let's go." Something was definitely wrong with Ron. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Ronald and I decided to go to the pet store. Doxies and Dragons, you know, near Madam Puddifoot's? Well, we arrived at ten fifteen." Harry failed to recognize the overwhelming weight of this statement, causing Hermione to grab a green brochure from her beaded bag and wave it aggressively in his face. "The brochure says that the shop opens at ten. We arrived _fifteen minutes_ after it was scheduled to be open, and it wasn't! It was still closed! We waited for another fifteen minutes, during which time Irma could have _died,_ " Hermione ignored Harry's muttered ' _Good riddance'_ and continued, "And it didn't open _then_ either." Ron took over the story at this point, as Hermione seemed far too flustered to continue.

"Well, the timing thing wasn't a big deal, but after about, I dunno, forty minutes, we hear this muggle car drive up." Harry tilted his head.

"Are those even allowed in Hogsmeade? It's an all-magical village, isn't it." Ron nodded.

"Normal muggle cars aren't, but suppliers like this one are. That's what it was, a supply truck. For the pet store. Non-magical pets and supplies are brought in from muggle sources. Anyway, the truck pulls up, and we can get a look at what it says on the side. And it says, I quote, Andersons Petz." Hermione butted into the story.

"With _no apostrophe._ And 'Petz' was spelled wrong. How does that _happen?_ It's _four_ letters."

Ron continued. "So this guy gets out and goes to the door, but he's confused as to why it's locked. You'd think he'd know it was closed, seeing as he's a supplier and all. Well, that's when Hermione notices a piece of paper stuck to the window. It's a note. The pet shop has been shut down! For 'dealing with an illegitimate supplier'." Hermione nodded.

"It wasn't hard to piece two and two together. A supplier with a misspelled name and no idea of the store's hours shows up, and the store is closed for dealings with an illegitimate supplier. This company, _Andersons Petz,_ is obviously the illegitimate supplier." Harry looked surprised.

"Andersons Petz is illegally selling pets to Doxies and Dragons?" Hermione nodded again.

"Yes. And when we went to speak to the supplier, he was confused. He knew his name, Phillip Anderson, but he didn't know why he was driving a truck. Or where he was." Ron looked spooked.

"My Dad dealt with that kind of thing when V-v-v-v, er, He Who Must Not Be Named, was terrorizing everyone. They had real problems with it at the ministry in particular. The Imperius Curse." Harry was stunned.

"So someone Imperiused this Phillip Anderson, and they wanted him to drop off _something_ at Doxies to Dragons. Actually, if they'd gotten in trouble for dealing with him, it means that he's already dropped something off." Hermione agreed.

"Phillip Anderson dropped _something_ off, while under the Imperius Curse, at Doxies and Dragons. We just don't know what it was."


	10. Chapter 10

The trio arrived back at Hogwarts in time for dinner, their clothes soaked with snow and their minds spinning with the mysterious drop off at Doxies and Dragons. It was announced by Dumbldore, once the students had filed in, that Professor Umbridge had been proven guilty of Sherlock's accusations and subsequently released. It was a bit of a minor shock for most of the student population, but as no one really knew much about Umbridge, no one seemed to mind. The only downside was that Snape would continue teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts, a subject which he seemed to take even more seriously than Potions. Seamus Finnegan had been docked ninety percent of his grade last week because he's spelled _Kappa_ with a 'c'.

Harry was distracted from his thoughts, however, by the sight of Malfoy walking through the doors of the great hall. Ron only snapped him out of his trance by flicking a glob of mashed potatoes at him and rolling his eyes.

" _Harry._ " Harry looked up suddenly.

"Oh. Sorry, Ron. I was just thinking about… uh… Phillip Anderson." Across the table, Hermione put down her book and looked at them closely.

"I have a theory. About Phillip Anderson." The boys waited for her to continue. "I think he was smuggling the second potions thief." Harry gasped. "No, listen. Here's how I think of it. The potions thief Imperiuses Phillip Anderson to drive him out to this obscure pet store near Hogwarts. He waits there while he solidifies his plans and then he breaks in and steals the ingredients. I don't know what he wants to do with them yet."

"That could be true, Hermione. In that case, the thief doesn't go to or teach at Hogwarts. Maybe they were a student in the past. Could they have followed Sherlock here?" Harry asked. Hermione shook her head.

"I don't know… it seems possible. A thief hears about a famous detective at Hogwarts, smuggles himself in and steals ingredients… but then what?"

"Maybe he's just doing it to prove he can outsmart Sherlock." Ron offered. Hermione looked skeptical.

"I don't think so, Ron. If it was just to outsmart Mr. Holmes, the thief wouldn't be taking specific things. No, the thief _means_ to steal those potions ingredients."

"Or maybe," Harry said quietly, "He's getting revenge." Hermione looked shocked. "Imagine that the thief is a criminal that Sherlock put in jail. He wants to get back at the detective but he isn't sure how. Then he hears about Sherlock out here and comes to find him, smuggling himself in. He steals potion ingredients until he can brew something that can hurt the detective. Maybe even kill him."

"I think you're right, Harry." Hermione answered solemnly. "We should tell Dumbledore about this. If you're correct, a criminal is hiding in Hogwarts."

"But we don't have any proof!"

"Tell Dumbledore about Phillip Anderson. Tell him about your suspicions. While you do that, Ron and I will go to the library and go through old Hogwarts records." Ron looked mystified.

"Why?"

"Because, Ron, the thief has to know that Hogwarts exists to break into it. Most likely they were a past student. We need to see if anyone is related to Sherlock in some way, or if I can find any criminals I know from the muggle news. We'll see if we can track down the thief that way."

"D'you think this criminal thief has something to do with John's laptop? Maybe they're the one keeping it open so that he can use it?"

"No." Hermione replied. "To reprogram the laptop in order for it to be compatible with magic is really difficult. Besides, you'd have to be _constantly_ keeping it open. A thief wouldn't have the time, or any real reason to do it." Ron shrugged.

"I guess." Hermione leapt up from the table with her beaded bag slung over her shoulder, clapping her hands and rubbing them together.

"Right! Ron, we are going to the library! Harry, you're going to Dumbledore. Just tell him our theory and see what he says." Hermione grabbed Ron's hand and grinned. "Imagine! We get to look at the Hogwarts _records!_ How exciting!" She raced off to the doors of the great hall, speaking rapidly about how she'd always dreamed of looking at the Hogwarts records in the library and how exciting this would be, Ron dragging behind her but smiling along.

Harry was left alone at the table, picking at his mashed potatoes and roast beef. Malfoy had already left the great hall, along with most of the other students and teachers. Dumbledore was still at the head table. It seemed as good a time as any to approach him, seeing as he had just eaten and was likely to be in a good mood. However, he _had_ just lost his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor rather suddenly, so maybe not. Oh, well. The safety of the school was more important than whatever mood Dumbledore was in at the moment. Harry would just have to tell him anyway. He approached the teachers' table cautiously, which was empty save for the headmaster. Harry cleared his throat.

"Sir?" Dumbledore glanced up, the twinkle in his blue eyes ever-present.

"Yes, Harry? Do you have something that you wish to tell me?" Harry nodded.

"Yes, sir. Er, Ron and Hermione found something… suspicious… today in Hogsmeade." Dumbledore's eyes darkened ever so slightly. "Something to do with a man named Phillip Anderson. Do you know him?" The headmaster shook his head gravely.

"I cannot say that I do. Harry, would you care to continue this conversation in my office? Perhaps it would spread rumours or panic, should the students happen to hear." He nodded to a group of second year Ravenclaws who quickly looked back at their food and blushed. Harry agreed, and followed Dumbledore down several large corridors and up a sweeping marble staircase. They reached the imposing stone statue of the gargoyle, to whom the headmaster whispered " _Jelly slugs"_ , and rode the slowly spinning staircase up to the heavy oaken door. Every time Harry entered Dumbledore's office, he could not cease to be amazed at its contents. The portraits of past headmasters whispered in a hushed murmur as Harry walked in, muffled by the whirring of a hundred tiny gadgets on brass shelves. Books were stacked in neat piles that nearly reached the glass ceiling. Fawkes the phoenix flapped his fiery wings and croaked a greeting. The smell of paper and sherbet reached Harry's nose. Dumbledore gestured to a chair. "Please, Harry, sit down. Would you care for a liquorice snap?"

Remembering Dumbledore's often peculiar taste in sweets, Harry politely declined. The Headmaster shrugged and smiled, taking one for himself. It promptly bit him on the finger and scurried away. Harry winced.

"Are you alright, Headmaster?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he waved Harry's concern off.

"When you become as old as I am, Harry, you will understand that liquorice snaps are far from the most dangerous things in life. Anyhow, please. Elaborate on what Miss Granger and Mr Weasley saw today." Harry recounted the events at Hogsmeade that day, Doxies and Dragons being closed for dealing with an illegitimate supplier, the Imperiused Phillip Anderson, and the trio's theory about the thief. Dumbledore paused for a moment and chewed on a more docile yellow sweet. Finally, he spoke. "These are dangerous times, Harry. Very dangerous. In all likelihood, you are… correct in your assumptions. The thief at Hogwarts could be a major criminal, and he could very well have a plot to injure Sherlock Holmes. However, in times like these, when so much is at stake, I find it most helpful to ignore my theories." Harry couldn't believe his ears.

" _Ignore_ our theory? If it's correct? But sir! If a criminal is on the loose in Hogwarts, we have to find them!" Dumbledore held up a hand.

"Yes, Harry, we must. And that is why Professor Holmes is here. This could very well be how the thief got in, and why. However, a motive and a plan is useless information when all we are doing is _looking_ for the thief. And that is all that we _are_ doing. This additional information will only scare the younger students."

"Sir, I really-"

"Harry, please. You are a smart boy, no doubt. This information may help us locate the thief, but as of yet, that is all we need to do. What would you have wished me to do with this information?"

Harry shook his head angrily. "I dunno, maybe you could tell the other students? So that they know they might be up against a criminal who escaped and smuggled themselves in, trying to kill someone, rather than another student playing a prank?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm sorry, Harry, but right now, I believe that the most important thing is not to panic. If the students discover this information, they might become terrified. For now, we must let them believe that they themselves are not in danger. They cannot help the detective find the thief, and therefore, they don't need to know." Harry stood angrily.

"Fine." He strode to the door. Dumbledore's voice stopped him.

"Harry, you must learn to be confident in the abilities of others. Sherlock Holmes will be the one to find this thief if anyone is. Perhaps this is a criminal who has smuggled themselves in to exact their revenge, but until we need the students to know, it must remain a secret." Harry pushed open the door, seething, and marched down the rotating staircase. He couldn't believe it. Was Dumbledore just going to keep the students in the dark? What if the hidden criminal killed someone? How bad was this going to get before the Headmaster realized that the students were in danger and needed to take precautions?


	11. Chapter 11

The library was reasonably empty when Ron and Hermione arrived to look at the records. Hermione was convinced that between the two of them, they might be able to find a muggle criminal she recognized.

"It's simple." She explained to Ron. "A muggle criminal could have been put in jail by Sherlock, and if they're on record as a Hogwarts student as well, they're probably our thief. They'd have to be a wizard convicted of muggle crimes to know both Sherlock and Hogwarts." The two of them searched through the vast bookshelves, discovering sections about everything from Legilimency to blast ended skrewts. Ron became sidetracked when he came across a comprehensive guide to the history of the Chudley Cannons, and Hermione stumbled across him twenty minutes later in a corner of the library, fixated on a chapter about the violent orange team colours. Hermione herself became lost in so many books that they most likely wouldn't have found the records at all if Ron hadn't tripped over a file sticking out from a dusty shelf.

"Ahh! Bloody-" Ron cursed as he fell loudly on the carpet. Hermione came quickly to the scene, gasping and grabbing the file folder from the shelf, flipping through in astonishment. Ron was disgruntled. "Aren't you going to make sure I haven't broken my neck before you take care of the file?" Hermione gave a little jump of happiness, and to Ron's surprise, kissed him firmly on the cheek.

"Ron! You found the records!" Her eyes widened as she looked through. "There are more on the shelf. We'll have to go through all of them from before we came to Hogwarts."

She grabbed a pile of them and started sorting through. Ron muttered assent, but blushed and touched his cheek faintly. He too grabbed a pile of records and thumbed through them haphazardly, half looking at them and half looking at his… friend? At his girlfriend? His… girl friend? He didn't know. Hermione didn't seem to have addressed the issue directly, instead preferring to do confusing things like hold his hand and kiss him on the cheek occasionally. But weren't you in a relationship if you went to Madam bloody Puddifoot's? Wasn't that some kind of rite of passage? It was a mystery to Ron, who had never been particularly adept at navigating complex social situations that involved the opposite gender.

Hermione, meanwhile, was reading through names. "Elizabeth Waters, Hufflepuff. No, never heard of her. Angus MacDougal, Ravenclaw… no… Charles Brinstock, also Ravenclaw. Never heard of him, either. Hanna Brown, Gryffindor… hmm, no. Samuel Fitzgerald, Slytherin…" Ron sighed. This was going to take _ages._ But he was with Hermione, which made any situation more bearable. He grabbed a file himself and began reading through.

Two hours later, it was beginning to get dark, and no one had been found that could be the thief. Only one Gryffindor from 1990 had been on the muggle news so far, and it was for vandalizing a corner shop. Hermione sighed and brushed her bushy hair from her face.

"This is useless, Ron. We've let Harry down, we've let the other students down. This was a terrible idea anyhow. The thief might have nothing to do with Hogwarts at all! And even if they did, we'd never find them in all these papers." She buried her head in her hands. Ron sat stupidly by a bookshelf, doing nothing to help her. What if he said the wrong thing? After all, he was prone to that kind of mishap. Still, he decided to try to cheer her up. Ron cleared his throat.

"Hermione?" She glanced up at him.

"Yes?"

"This wasn't a terrible idea. This was brilliant! They must be somewhere in these, er, records… they've got to be! You're right about them being a past student, I think… and… and I think that you haven't let anyone down at all. You're doing your best to catch the thief, and if we can't find them, then it doesn't matter. You're still the most brilliant girl I've ever met." Hermione's eyes started to water dangerously.

"Ron! That's- that's the most wonderful thing you've ever said to me!" Ron turned crimson.

"Well, er-" Hermione cut him off by wrapping her arms around him.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I'm just worried. I mean, a criminal in Hogwarts! Who got past the enchantments too… that's bad. And Harry's not himself lately, and you've been all…"

"All what?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"All awkward. This is when the three of us need to stick together, Ron! You, Harry, and me! To find the thief, we need all three of us to protect ourselves and help each other. We need to be a cohesive unit!" She wrapped her arms tighter around her… boyfriend? Her friend? Her… Ron? "Promise you'll help me find the thief. This can't be an individual effort from anyone."

Ron smiled at her. "I wouldn't dream of doing anything differently, Hermione." Hermione's eyes locked with Ron's. She leaned forward suddenly and so did he, closer and closer…. Suddenly-

"RON!" Hermione leapt up. "That folder!" She seized the 1979 graduates folder and held it up in the air triumphantly. "Look at this!"

Ron rolled his eyes. He should've known that Hermione would be distracted from her potential first kiss by a pile of old student records. "Huh?"

"Jim Moriarty!" Ron was confused. "Slytherin graduate, 1979. He was a suspect in a case on the muggle news last summer, something about a poisoning… could he be our thief?" Ron shrugged.

"He _was_ a Slytherin." Hermione looked appalled.

"You can't just make assumptions about people, Ronald! Look at me, for example! I completely defy the stereotype of the idiot Gryffindor." She kept reading, unaware that she'd just offended Ron immensely. "Oh, no. Never mind." She shook her head. "Jim Moriarty couldn't be our thief. I remember his case, he wasn't convicted." She squinted. "But Rhonda Khalwa… that rings a bell. She was put in muggle prison two or three years ago… she was a Slytherin too. Do you think Rhonda's our thief?" Ron tilted his head.

"Maybe."

"Hmm." Hermione sighed. "It could be her… I suppose. It could be anyone, really." She closed the folder of records and smiled grimly at the boy opposite her. "We just have to keep looking." Ron nodded.

"We'll find the thief. It's probably Rhonda. I mean, who else have we found that it could be?"

That night, in the common room, Harry recounted what Dumbledore had told him.

"He wants us to keep it a secret! He doesn't want them to know that there could be a criminal on the loose." Hermione sighed.

"Harry, look. Imagine that we were completely unaware that anything was wrong. Imagine being suddenly told that there's a criminal on the loose and that we could _die._ And then imagine being _first years._ " Harry shrugged.

"Then I would want to protect myself, not be kept in the dark." Hermione looked pensive.

"What if there _was_ a way to protect the other students? We could teach them defensive spells. You've had to use them before, Harry. You know more than anyone." Harry was confused.

"Like a defensive spells club?" Hermione nodded.

"Exactly. We could call it… PYAHFWS!" Ron looked disgusted.

"Hermione, are you okay? You sound as though you've eaten a puking pastille." The girl was affronted.

"It's an acronym. It means _Protect Yourself And Have Fun With Spells._ " Harry shook his head.

"We need something short and zingy. Maybe since Dumbledore won't help the students protect themselves, it could be something that kind of needles him. What about DA? Dumbledore's Army. Makes it seem like he's supporting it."

"Or AD." Ron suggested. "The Actual Defence club." Hermione shook her head.

"More people will want to join if it seems like the school is banding together to protect themselves and have fun. DA is a good name." Harry clapped his hands.

"The DA it is!" He smiled. "We can tell people about it before our next Hogsmeade visit. Get them to come somewhere out of the way so that Dumbledore doesn't know about it before it happens officially, in case he thinks we're scaring everyone or telling them our theories. Maybe the Hog's Head?" Ron sputtered.

"The Hog's Head? That's kind of dodgy, Harry." Harry shrugged.

"We want the club to be able to start, don't we? So that we can defend ourselves and the other students from the thief?" His friends nodded. "Then we have to be a little quiet about it."

That night, before Harry went to sleep, he sat on his windowsill and looked out at the melting snow in the dark. He'd done this when he was little, stared out into the night when he couldn't sleep, but it had been different then. He felt as though he didn't fit properly onto the stone ledge anymore, as though he'd outgrown both it and what it stood for. The little boy in glasses and airplane pyjamas who couldn't sleep was now a teenager in glasses and Gryffindor pyjamas who couldn't sleep for different reasons. There was Malfoy, for one. And the thief. And the pressure of starting a club without Dumbledore's permission. And Ron's awkwardness around both him and Hermione. And Hermione's bloody rabbit. There was something about the creature that made him sick. He shifted against the cold stone and leaned back onto the glass. Harry was nervous. A criminal in Hogwarts was… scary, to say the least. Especially given everything else that was going on. He sighed and shook his head to clear his head, climbing between his silky sheets and closing his eyes.

He would need his rest.


	12. Chapter 12

The Gryffindors had divination the following day with the Slytherins and Professor Holmes, and it was the talk of the common room before breakfast. Lavender Brown was sitting anxiously on the couch with Parvati Patil, Seamus Finnegan leaning rather closer to her than was necessary.

"And then," Lavender complained animatedly, "He said that Parvati had a date with Dean Thomas!" She was referring to their current and poorly qualified divination teacher, the detective Sherlock Holmes. Harry walked into the room, yawned, and shuffled over to the couch.

"Morning." Lavender's eyes grew wide.

"We were just talking about that strange Professor! He shouldn't be allowed to teach." Seamus nodded without much conviction.

"If y'ask me, he's not too…" Parvati gave him a look. "Er, he's weird, yeah." Harry shrugged.

"Better than that old bat Trelawney."

Lavender drew herself up and spat, "She was my favourite teacher! She taught us about _real_ divination." Harry sighed.

"Look, Lavender, no offence, but I'm not sure she was entirely, y'know…"

"Not sure she was _entirely, y'know,_ " Lavender mimicked. "Harry, what has Sherlock taught us that we can actually use in the wizarding world?"

"Loads of things!" Harry felt his face begin to get hot. "He's certainly not forcing us to drink scalding hot tea and then examine the leaves to see if we can predict the gruesome details of our inevitable early deaths, is he?" Lavender looked disgusted.

"It's not Trelawney's fault that you don't have an inner eye," She simpered, "Right, Seamus?"

"Yeah?" Seamus looked confused. "I mean, er-"

"That's right. You know what, Harry?" Lavender continued. "I think you like Sherlock so much because he's just like you."

"What do you mean by that?" Harry felt his voice go icily calm. He knew exactly what was coming as soon as Lavender opened her mouth.

"Because he's gay." The room stopped moving. It started swaying dangerously from side to side.

"Um, what?" Harry heard Ron's voice from the doorway. "Harry isn't gay. And neither is Sherlock."

"If Sherlock isn't gay, why does he spend so much time with John Watson? You know, that volunteer from the Hospital Wing?" Harry felt sick. Ron piped in angrily,

"You don't know that, you c-" But Lavender cut him off.

"And if _Harry_ isn't gay, why was he kissing Draco Malfoy on our last Hogsmeade trip?" A collective gasp travelled across the common room. Harry recognized someone who looked vaguely like Hermione say angrily,

"What? Harry, that's not true! You hate Malfoy, don't you?" Harry opened his mouth to deny it, to say anything at all. But he couldn't.

"I… I, er…" was the only thing he could muster. Seamus looked disgusted.

"He's a f-"

"Shut up, Seamus!" Ron roared from the corner, stepping forward and grabbing him by the collar. "No matter who Harry wants to… be with, it's none of your business!"

"I saw them together!" Lavender squealed excitedly. "I swear, they were kissing!" It was Hermione's turn to snarl,

"Shut up!"

Lavender turned white. Hermione looked pleadingly at Harry.

"Harry, say something! You can't let these… these students… say this to you! Please, stand up for yourself! If it's true, just tell us. Ron and I don't care! Just… Harry?" Harry glanced at the couch, where Ron had Seamus by the throat and Parvati was frozen mid-step toward the door, to the corner where Hermione glared at Lavender, who looked sickeningly smug.

"It's… it's true. I was kissing Draco." No one in the room moved. "I'd prefer that you didn't tell anyone else… please. Please." It registered to Harry that he must sound pathetic, pleading for privacy like this. Pleading for mercy from people who would show him none. Suddenly, he felt angry. They had no right, _no right,_ to act like this. They had no right to take away his freedom to tell his friends about Draco, and they had no right to take away his dignity in doing so.

"You know what?" Harry said matter-of-factly. "Seamus?" The wizard looked up. "You disgust me too. You spend half the day draped over Lavender, and the other half drooling. So telling me that I disgust _you_ for reasons that I can't control and that don't even concern you is really ironic." He felt a rush of adrenaline. "And Lavender. I'm not going to ask why you find it amusing to hide yourself and watch other people kiss, but I really _would_ like to ask what gives you the authority to tell other people about it."

There was silence.

"That's what I thought." Harry spat. "You _don't_ have the authority. So yeah, I like Draco. And yeah, we were kissing. You can all _deal with it._ My love life? None of your business. And if you think for one second, for _one second,_ that loving another wizard makes me lesser than you, I'd like to point out that Voldemort thought the same thing about muggle-borns." Harry noticed Hermione bow her head out of the corner of his eye. "And look what happened with that, okay? No one here is lesser than anyone else. We're all human."

Harry stared at the people seated on the couch. No one moved an inch. Suddenly, a loud whoop caught him off guard from the doorway. Harry looked up, straight into Neville's grinning face.

"That was brilliant, Harry!" As if on cue, a loud round of applause and cheering sounded as thirty or so Gryffindors who had obviously been listening to Harry's speech poured into the common room. Fred (or George) Weasley thumped Harry squarely on the back and yelled "Nice one, Harry!" Ginny looked slightly miffed for a moment, but quickly joined in, giving Harry a warm hug and a 'Good job'. It was nice, Harry supposed, to have so many caring people to call his friends. But for all it was worth, he had only wanted to tell Hermione and Ron. Not the entirety of Gryffindor House. Gathering his books, he pushed through the crowd and out of the common room. Somehow this felt very, very wrong. He was worried about what would happen if word got to Draco Malfoy that the whole of Gryffindor knew their secret, especially since the other boy might not find acceptance as easily. In fact, Harry was worried about everything. A murderer in Hogwarts, a thief in Hogwarts, an irritable detective in Hogwarts, Seamus Finnegan in Hogwarts… why was everything converging right now? It seemed as though things were coming to a close. No, not a close. A climax. Something big was about to happen. Harry could hear it in the fear behind Seamus's disgust, see it in the way Sherlock glanced over his shoulder, like he was being followed. He knew something was going to happen. It was just a matter of-

"WHEN?" Sherlock thundered at Parvati. "Not _why, when!_ My God, how dense can you be?"

"I- I thought," Parvati stuttered.

"Clearly you _didn't_ think! Now, you can see that this woman has pink hair. Correct?"

"Uh-"

"So it says on the Salon, where you clearly did not bother to read the sign, that they specialize in blonde hair dye! It says _quite obviously_ that blonde is their shortest time to wait for the dye to set, and that it only takes twenty minutes! Any other dye is longer! So WHEN did the woman leave the salon?!"

"After-"

"AFTER FOUR THIRTY!" Sherlock was positively enraged at this point, his face flushed, his eyes wild. A thin sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead. "And then-!"

Harry turned away from Sherlock's furious insults to Parvati's intellect and glanced around the room. Ron met his gaze with a mirthful expression and a shared smirk at Parvati, who appeared flustered and ready to burst into tears. Hermione glanced at him with warmth from her adjacent table, and he noticed a few others do the same. The confrontation in the common room seemed to have made him a minor celebrity among his fellow Gryffindors. Letting his green eyes wander a little further back into the room, Harry casually surveyed the cluster of whispering Slytherin fifth years. He noticed a flash of blonde in the corner, head bent among the others, cackling at something. Harry blushed. Malfoy seemed brighter today than Harry had ever seen him before, laughing casually, the picture of health. Sometimes Draco had an air of illness about him (Harry suspected that it was usually after the holidays- after visits to his family), but today his eyes sparkled and his hair was neatly slicked back. Malfoy looked up and caught Harry's eye. He grinned and winked before looking back at his housemates, causing Harry to turn bright red and become strangely incoherent. Ron snickered.

"Oh, to be young and in love!" He whispered, clutching his hands to his heart and swooning.

"Shut it, Ron!" Harry snarled. The edges of a smile lit up his face. "You and Hermione are hardly any less nauseating." It was Ron's turn to look outraged.

"I…"

"SHUT UP!" The voice came from the front of the class abruptly, causing Lavender to shriek and jump out of her seat. Sherlock had pressed his fingertips to his temples, and was muttering under his breath. He straightened again and yelled aggressively, "DON'T MOVE! DON'T THINK! DON'T BREATHE!" He stayed in his odd position for so long that eventually the class was forced to dismiss themselves and depart for their next lesson.

"Blimey." Ron shook his head in disbelief. "He's a real nutter, eh?"

"Definitely. He's pants at teaching, but I'll bet he's a great detective."


End file.
